


Five Times Bush Held His Tongue

by hornblowerfic_archivist



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-07
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:39:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6231874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hornblowerfic_archivist/pseuds/hornblowerfic_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Lieutenant Bush holds his tongue leaves Hornblower somewhat perplexed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Continuous Watch

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Hornblowerfic.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hornblowerfic.com). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [Hornblowerfic.com collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hornblowerfic/profile).

I

Bush watched the young third Lieutenant Hornblower resume his continuous watch with some trepidation. It was damned unusual for a Captain to order two consecutive thirty-six hour watches … damned unusual. If Bush had been given to criticising his betters, he might almost have said it was unwise.

This was a ship of war, headed into hostile territory. Hornblower, along with the other officers, himself included, would be essential to the smooth running of the ship when she cleared for action. Having the young man dead on his feet during battle boded ill for the men under his command.

Watching Hornblower take a turn about the quaterdeck, Bush had to admit he was taking it well enough. Though their first meeting had been less than complimentary – Bush having been thrown to the ground by the younger man rather than have his head knocked in by a careless tackle – Bush had come to like Hornblower. There was something about him that inspired confidence.

Bush fidgeted with his glass, his calloused thumb worrying the battered leather sleeve as his mind struggled to reconcile the needs of war with his Captain’s orders. He was a simple man, steeped in the ways of the Navy. It was not in his nature to deliberate orders. Thus it was with some discomfort that he found himself doing just that.

Hornblower had taken up his station, hands clasped in the small of his back, his head held high with every appearance of attention. It would take a seaman of Bush’s experience to notice the weary sway apparent in his posture, or the slight shake of his hands where they sat on the wool of his coat.

It seemed wasteful to subject an officer to such punishment in the face of so ambivalent a crime. To his mind, Hornblower had done well to avoid tearing the tops’l when the reef snagged. In all his years in His Majesty’s Navy, he had never seen a man punished for preserving a sail.

So it was that he eyed Hornblower uneasily for the remainder of his own watch. The young man acquitted himself well enough considering how many days it had been since his head graced a pillow.

As he made his way below decks at the change of the watch, he paused. The younger man looked up enquiringly, his face a mask of polite deference. Bush opened his mouth but the platitudes caught in his throat. There was nothing he could say to console the man without appearing to criticise the Captain. In the end, Bush settled for a nod and a gruff farewell, leaving Hornblower looking after him somewhat perplexed.


	2. Continuous Watch

II

Bush only registered the cold bite of steel after he’d dispatched his opponent. The deck seemed to rise up and meet him, rather than the reverse. Direction played little part in the force generated as he hit the smooth, weathered planks. He groped around for the wound, appalled to find that his hands were shaking.  
  
He touched something warm and his hand, when held up to the light, was stained red with his own life’s blood. Around him, the battle wore on. Seconds lengthened into minutes and minutes into hours as his heart dutifully pumped his claret out onto the planks. Somewhere in his mind, he was a lad again – a ship’s brat, brush and rag in hand, working at the deck, polishing away the stain of another sailor.  
  
It was as though a lantern were snuffed out, so quickly did the clamour cease. All at once, a strong hand gripped the back of his neck, titling his head until he met his Captain’s panicked eyes. Not once did Hornblower’s gaze waver even as he bellowed for the doctor.  
  
Bush blinked once but said nothing. After all, what was there to say? If Hornblower was here to hold his miserable corpse then they had clearly carried the day. Somehow, congratulations seemed out of order in his current state. Bush took another look at his scarlet fingers and spoke for the first time.  
  
“Damn,” he said, softly.  
  
Hornblower’s face flickered between amusement and irritation. “Run through, and that’s the best you can do?”  
  
Bush thought he might have managed a twitch of his eyebrows. Certainly, Hornblower’s smile solidified, sliding out of shadow and into the late afternoon sun as he shifted to shield him from the light.  
  
Suddenly, a thought came to Bush, as clear and present as the fire across his chest. He was compelled to speak – it was not within his power keep the words from being uttered. “I want you to read over me,” he told Hornblower urgently.  
  
“Enough of that,” Hornblower scolded. “You’re not dying.”  
  
“Please,” Bush whispered, the plea falling from his lips like a foreign language.  
  
“I said, enough,” snapped Hornblower, glancing up and gesturing the good doctor closer. “There are far and away enough men who require reading over,” he said, glancing between the doctor and Bush, leaving both of them unsure as to who he was addressing.  
  
Bush felt those delicate fingers slip from the nape of his neck, the twinge of regret melding with the flash of pain as the doctor set to work, lending an innocence to his expression that was not entirely warranted.   
  
As Hornblower strode through the carnage, pristine and untouched, Bush wanted nothing more than his educated, sensible company. He hardly felt the doctor wield his needle, so absorbed was he in watching the man restore order to the ship. Finally, when the last body was cleared from the deck and only Bush remained, shielded from the sun by the quarterdeck, Hornblower crossed to the rail some feet away and laid his pale hands upon it. Even from such a distance, Bush could judge the force he exerted by the stretch of skin over knuckle.  
  
With the ship secure, his person unharmed and the spoils of war safely stowed below decks, he could not fathom the source of Hornblower’s distress. As much as he wanted reassurance, Bush could not bring himself to speak the words that might call him back to his side.


End file.
